Star Wars: Beneath the Streets
by SWProfessor
Summary: A novice detective interviews a serial killer who has just been caught after causing a rampage on the sub-levels of Coruscant. Is he crazy? Or did he really find the true meaning to life?


Gorren Tosh was a normal guy—or at least it looked that way. He was rugged, smooth-talking, and easy-going. Yet, here Tarma was, interrogating him in a security cell on Coruscant. The man was an animal, a serial killer. For the past six months, he'd wreaked havoc on the sublevels of Coruscant, striking the most base terror into the hearts of the planet's lower class. CSA, the Coruscant Security Agency, had caught him on Sublevel 2 only hours ago.

"Talk to me, Gorren," she said nonchalantly as she slid a cup of steaming goga tea across the table to him. "I want to know what makes you tick."

The killer lazily picked up the cup and took a long slurp, causing Tarma to question how he could imbibe such hot tea so fast. Slouching further into his chair, he smacked his lips and grinned. "What can I say? I'm a simple man with simple pleasures. Credits, spice"—he flicked his eyes over her body, a devious glint flashing over them—"the warmth of a woman's body, or the satisfaction of tearing someone's insides out and bathing in their blood." The man let out a chuckle, and Tarma did her best not to gag.

She gave him an easy smile. "Look, Gorren, I'm here because I'm going to help you as best as I can. We're looking at a life sentence on the moon of Apatros." She paused, giving her next few words utter importance. "If you didn't already know, that will mean you'll be mining cortosis for the rest of your days." She leaned forward. "A man with your looks shouldn't be subject to such a brutal fate. If the cave-ins don't kill you, you'll die a slow and agonizing death due to lung cancer. I don't think ORO provides filtered masks for their prisoners. Breathing in all that dust and mining chemicals takes its toll, you know." She paused, but there was no reaction from the man, so she continued. "Now, I can help change that. I can get you a nice cell somewhere on Calthos. That way you can spend the rest of your days in peace and tranquility, looking over the golden fields and ranging gragg beasts from your window. Wouldn't you prefer the smell of freshly rained grass wafting through your window instead of severe back pain from handling a mining jack twelve hours a day, six days a week?"

Gorren laughed. "A cage is a cage. Don't try to glorify my imprisonment. We both know that I will be rotting away for the rest of my days. That's not freedom."

Tarma straightened the paperwork on the table before her as she replied. "Well, if you wanted freedom then you probably shouldn't have killed dozens of pedestrians braving the sublevels, and I'm putting that mildly."

The killer leaned back in his chair again, a smile breaking his stoic features. "But that's just it: killing those people—reveling in their blood—that's the most freedom I've ever felt." Suddenly, he shot forward and grabbed Tarma's clasped hands. She let out a squeak of surprise. "You see, girly, most people like you think that I'm crazy." He paused. "I'm not crazy, though. No, no, no, not at all. I've actually found myself." He relaxed in his chair, letting go of her hands and returning to his slouched posture. "And one of these days,you may be lucky enough to find yourself too."

Tarma let out a quick breath. "Find myself? If you're implying that I would kill—"

Gorren bellowed in laughter before suddenly going solemn. The way he so easily changed expression was beyond uncanny. His face suddenly contorted in rage,and he roared, "You haven't seen what I've seen, you upper-class bitch! Have you ever been in the base levels of Coruscant? Levels 500, 600, 700? Levels where men are slaughtered and fucking child prostitutes are forced to roam the streets?"

A heavy silence fell over the room. Tarma said nothing, the air palpable with intensity and anxiety. Gorren closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax for a few seconds before whispering, "I didn't think so. You see, I like to see myself as a vigilante. I have righted other people's wrongs." He slammed his hand on the table, causing Tarma to flinch back into her seat. "I did what needed to be done!"

Tarma collected herself. "You call yourself a vigilante, yet you killed innocent women and children on Sublevel 2, Gorren. How is that righting the wrong you saw in the base levels?"

It seemed that the man's demeanor had turned more and more maniacal as the conversation had progressed, and he let out a blood-churning howl of laughter. "Who said that the monstrous citizens of the base levels are in the wrong? Don't you see? They have found themselves! They are free! They are no longer chained to the rules and laws that go against their very nature! So very few people enjoy the sweet bliss of being unbound from within. Not even the damn Chancellor of this 'oh so mighty' Republic can claim that kind of liberty." He gazed at Tarma in a way that made her feel as if he were gazing into her soul, into the innermost part of her being. "You say I'm going to be imprisoned for the rest of my life? Fine. But at least I was free. You, on the other hand, will be chained to the laws of society for the rest of your sad existence."

Tarma stood up, collecting her paperwork and putting it under her arm. It was obvious this conversation was going nowhere, and she was feeling far too uncomfortable to stay in this cell with him any longer. There just seemed to be something, whatever it was, behind what he said . . . "Well, that concludes our conversation, Gorren."

"What? Already?" He laughed. "We were just starting to get to know each other, dear! I feel like we have a connection!"

Tarma walked to the door and it slid open for her. "Enjoy what's left of your life," she retorted over her shoulder.

Jamous mused aloud. "To think, how satisfying it would have been to take yours."

She walked out the door, and it sealed shut with a hiss. Talking to the man had been nothing like she had ever experienced before. He seemed so sure of himself: the manner in which he acted, the way he talked—it almost seemed as if he had found something that no one else had.

"Oh, Tarma, would you listen to yourself?" she mumbled aloud."You sound ridiculous."

But she just couldn't shake the thought that he had planted in her mind. Maybe . . . just maybe, she'd go down to the base levels and try to find herself too.


End file.
